Quotes About Memory

Do you still miss Gran?" I ask him as we head toward New Clairmont. "Because I miss her. We never talk about her." "A part of me died," he says. "And it was the best part." "You think so?" I ask "That is all there is to say about it," says Granddad.

Before we became criminals. Before we became ghosts.

There's nothing in our whole house that says he ever lived with us, except me. Why are you allowed to erase my father and I'm not allowed to " "Erase yourself?" Mummy says.

Funerals were held for Gatwick Matthew Patil, Mirren Sinclair Sheffield and Jonathan Sinclair Dennis.

The story ended a long time ago

Silence is a protective coating over pain." I understood, and I managed to erase Granny Tipper from conversation, the same way I had erased my father. Not happily, but thoroughly.

Unless we remember we cannot understand

The volume of their past must be restored to its shelf, and here, here was the place, amid darkness and perishing flowers.

That power of holding on to an image that Ruskin describes so admirably is not the power of the eidetic; it is that faculty of keeping a large number of relationships present in one's mind that distinguishes all mental achievement, be it that of the chess player, the composer, or the great artist.

Memory's one function is to help us regret

Also, that men fall into two classes--those who forget views and those who remember them, even in small rooms.

But it struck him that people are not really dead until they are felt to be dead. As long as there is some misunderstanding about them, they possess a sort of immortality.

I'd far rather leave a thought behind me than a child. Other people can have children.

When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations.

When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else.

He had known so much about her once -what she thought, how she felt, the reasons for her actions. And now he only knew that he loved her, and all the other knowledge seemed passing from him just as he needed it most.

Let us think of people as starting life with an experience they forget and ending it with one which they anticipate but cannot understand.

For the dead, who seem to take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours.

Do you remember Italy?

They were his last words, because Maurice had disappeared thereabouts, leaving no trace of his presence except a little pile of the petals of the evening primrose, which mourned from the ground like an expiring fire. To the end of his life Clive was not sure of the exact moment of departure, and with the approach of old age he grew uncertain whether the moment had yet occurred.

There had always been something to worry him ever since he could remember, always something that distracted him in the pursuit of beauty. For he did pursue beauty, and, therefore, Margaret's speeches did flutter away from him like birds.

The ethereal past had blinded him, and the highest happiness he could dream was a return to it.

You, who have just crossed the Roof of the World, will not want to hear an account of the little hills that I saw — low, colorless hills. But to me they were living and the turf that covered them was a skin, under which their muscles rippled, and I felt that those hills had called with incalculable force to men in the past, and that men had loved them. Now they sleep — perhaps for ever. They commune with humanity in dreams.

For the dead, who seem to take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. The passion they have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or to transfer, but well-nigh impossible to destroy.